


Preserved Roses

by being_alive



Series: Mini-Fics [11]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Neither Fluff Nor Angst RIP, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25259284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/being_alive/pseuds/being_alive
Summary: "Count Paris," Tybalt greets, stiffly, and with a glare. He straightens the cuff of his sleeve and then stiffly pats the open spot on the stone bench beside him as he says, "Please, have a seat."
Relationships: Paris/Tybalt (Romeo and Juliet)
Series: Mini-Fics [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1380718
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Preserved Roses

**Author's Note:**

> The source of the title is [this](https://youtu.be/6V3RliuDbZM) song, which is only _vaguely_ and _tangentially_ related to the fic itself. Honestly, I just wanted to use the title for _something_.

There are no clouds in the sky today, Tybalt notes with a scowl. Instead of continuing to stare up into the endless blue above, he instead turns his gaze to the rose bush in front of him. He's never liked blue. 

On top of this, the person who was supposed to meet him here is running late. Finally, the sound of heavy footsteps can be heard, soon followed by the sound of a voice saying, "When I was informed that the Prince of Cats wished to speak with me, I could scarcely believe my own two ears."

"Count Paris," Tybalt greets, stiffly, and with a glare. He straightens the cuff of his sleeve and then stiffly pats the open spot on the stone bench beside him as he says, "Please, have a seat."

Paris sweeps aside the glimmering golden fabric of his coat aside and does so before asking, "So, Tybalt, what did you wish to speak to me about?"

"I want to know what your intentions are regarding Juliet," Tybalt says, simply, fixing Paris with a glare. Paris meets his gaze and replies, the corners of his lips quirking upwards into a smile as he replies, "From your dear cousin? I want what any man wants."

Tybalt crosses and uncrosses his arms, tightening one of his hands into a fist before forcing himself to splay it casually on the bench beside him as he asks, "And what exactly is that?"

"Oh, you know," Paris drawls, with a dismissive flick of his hand, the gold of his rings glinting as golden as his hair in the sunlight as he continues, sounding bored, "A pretty wife to keep me company and a veritable hoard of children to squabble over matters of inheritance."

"What do you really want, Count Paris?" Tybalt asks, dark gaze narrowing as he suspiciously regards the man beside him. 

"The same thing as you, Prince of Cats," Paris replies with a laugh, and continues upon being met with stony silence from Tybalt, "To be a Capulet."

Paris reaches out and lays his hand over the top of Tybalt's, giving him a dismissive pat but then lingering. Tybalt stares down at where Paris's pale, soft hand covers his own tan, scarred one, rage bubbling up inside of him. He wants to reach down and wrench Paris's hand away, to crush it in his grip until Paris tips his head back and _screams_ , pink lips parted wide and with tears washing away the smugness from his green gaze, until he sees that only one of them will ever be a Capulet.

But that would hardly be polite of him, to treat his guest in such a manner. It wouldn't be good form for a Capulet, after all, and his aunt would never let him hear the end of it if she found out he had treated someone of such _esteem_ in that manner, especially when she would consider such an act to be unprovoked. So he kisses Paris instead, because there are far easier ways to make a Count scream.


End file.
